Chapter 321 |
First Horn of the Empire (7)
Two swords pierced his heart.
Aldaran looked down at his chest. He saw the two blades running through his heart, then traced the sword paths they had carved.
One seemed like a sword modeled after his own life. The other was the sword that had made him bloom. Both were so beautiful they felt almost too much for him.
So Aldaran smiled.
Sadly, that smile made no sound. His soul had awakened, but his body was still under the demon's control. The Carnival King clearly had no intention of allowing Aldaran even a small laugh, let alone a single word.
A demon that judged the world through laughter was ordering him not to laugh. What a contradiction. Aldaran's soul mocked the Carnival King with all its strength.
Yes. He understood his situation.
He could not deliver grand final lines, and he could not even laugh. Did he regret that? Well. Aldaran would have shaken his head. He closed his eyes, satisfied with his end. Wanting anything more would have been greed.
A swordsman's conversation is carried out through swords. By clashing blades, Aldaran had seen how much his disciples had grown. He had seen the answers they found. Then what more did a master need to say?
"......"
He reached out toward Najin, who was gasping for breath with Aldaran’s heart still pierced. Even now, the Carnival King tried to restrain Aldaran's body, but Aldaran scoffed and snapped the strings draped over him.
Would she even stop an actor from leaving one final word before stepping off the stage? Do not interfere. This is my stage.
As if saying exactly that, Aldaran moved.
Smack.
Aldaran flicked Najin on the forehead. Najin had endured raging storms and bare Sword Aura head-on without flinching once, yet for the first time, he looked startled. His shoulders twitched.
Aldaran looked at Najin's wide eyes and smiled.
Excalibur and the garb of a Free Knight. It suits you perfectly. Then again, if not you, who could draw that sword? If not you, who could turn even a monster like me into a knight? Who else could be called a Free Knight?
It was fun fighting with you.
You damn brat.
After Najin staggered back in surprise, Aldaran looked toward an old man. He watched his first disciple, now far too old, and gave a bitter smile.
Good grief, I told you to come slowly, not to come this old. You really never had any flexibility.
Aldaran reversed his grip on his sword. He was not trying to swing it. He stretched the reversed blade toward Gerd, as if telling him to take it. The paint coating the sword had already been washed away in the clash.
This was the symbol of the Empire's hero, Aldaran Vasaglia.
The blade that had shared his life.
Aldaran handed it to Gerd. Gerd widened his eyes and swallowed hard. Then he laughed in disbelief, took the sword, and seemed to understand his master's intent without hearing a word.
"So I'm next."
Aldaran smiled at that answer.
Looks like you learned to read the room after one hundred fifty years. He did not say a word, but Aldaran had already conveyed everything he wanted to convey. So he had no regrets.
At last, Aldaran burned his soul.
His story was already over. Was his soul not far too bright to remain in this wretched body? The body that held his soul, that vessel, had been hacked apart by Gerd and Najin, and even its core, the heart, had been pierced.
The moment that vessel collapsed, Aldaran's soul scattered through the cracks, as if it had nothing left to cling to. It was complete annihilation.
At the moment he vanished, Aldaran felt it. The Carnival King, who had kept him here, was shaken. That damned demon reached out desperately to seize him.
The demon whispered in Aldaran's ear.
Did he truly have no regrets? Did he feel no reluctance about leaving like this? Did he not still have things left to do? The demon tried to keep Aldaran in the mortal world by feeding on his attachments.
...If he had not met Najin, maybe that hand would have caught him.
Because he would have had regrets. Regret that he left nothing behind. Regret that his life had been worthless. Regret for the honor of comrades he could not protect. Regret for the pride that had fallen to the ground.
But now, well.
Was he not still a knight? Had that boy not said that if one wished to be a knight, then one was a knight? If so, he had no attachment to life. He might have left things unfinished, but they were no longer his burden.
'Next is yours.'
The next part is yours.
'Do your best.'
He had disciples who proved his life was not worthless. He thought they had forgotten him, yet they still remembered him. For all of it, Aldaran was grateful.
No regrets.
Aldaran put a period at the end of his life.
"Well done."
In the final moment, in that split second when the Carnival King's power wavered, Aldaran moved his lips and left those final words behind. After that one line, his soul crumbled and vanished.
Only the body remained, empty after the soul departed.
In the end, the one who brought down the Empire's hero was not a demon, but the Empire's sword.
2.
Najin, breathing hard, dropped to the ground. Sitting there, he rubbed his forehead. In that final moment, Aldaran had touched his forehead without saying a word.
He said nothing.
That was exactly why Najin rubbed his forehead and smiled. Back when he learned the sword from the Helmet Knight, the man would often smack his forehead or the back of his head to correct his stance. The memory surfaced, and Najin pressed his forehead hard.
Aldaran Vasaglia was dead.
Najin did not know what Aldaran had felt in that final moment. He did not know, but he could be sure of one thing. His master had been satisfied with his own end.
Well done.
Aldaran's voice when he said that had been light.
At the very least, it was not the voice of someone full of regret.
"......"
Gerd was also turning Aldaran's end over in his mind. He looked at the sword he had received from his master. He was not stupid enough to miss what it meant for his master to pass him the symbol of the Empire's hero.
This was the result of grading postponed for one hundred fifty years.
Gerd clenched the sword and smiled. So it seemed he had avoided a failing mark, Master.
The two disciples each found their answer.
One finally heard the answer delayed for one hundred fifty years. The other finished the duel left unfinished. And with the master's death, one stage came to an end. The actor stepped down from the platform, satisfied with his own performance.
Just as the curtain was about to fall.
The scriptwriter who directed this stage moved the stage machinery, because this was not the story she wanted.
Twitch.
Aldaran's body, kneeling as a corpse, moved. Najin and Gerd's eyes narrowed instantly. They both took their stances at the same time.
A body left as an empty shell after the soul had departed.
The paint pooled on the floor was sucked toward that body. Aldaran's kneeling corpse began to move. The motion was grotesque. There was no nobility in it, no pride.
A walking corpse.
What entered that corpse were souls the Carnival King had dragged in at random. Even if the soul had left, Aldaran's body itself was still a masterpiece. The Carnival King began shoving the souls she had collected into the empty corpse.
Those souls did not fit the body. Of course they clashed. Countless souls shattered, but as if that only meant she should force in more, the Carnival King kept pouring paint.
AAAAAAAAA!
The tangled souls settled into Aldaran's body. His jaw split wide as he screamed. A beast's howl echoed.
Blood vessels burst red in Najin's eyes.
Najin gritted his teeth and set his stance. Right then, someone thrust out an arm in front of him and stopped him.
"...Sir Gerd?"
It was Gerd. Blocking Najin's path, he stood one step ahead of him.
"This is the Carnival King's domain."
Gerd pointed at Aldaran's corpse. Paint was stitching the corpse back together. It was forcefully reconnecting wounds, covering and repainting.
It had held back before because it caused rejection with Aldaran's own soul, but now that the soul was gone, the Carnival King seemed to see no reason to hold back and poured in paint without restraint.
"......"
Then Gerd pointed around them.
The Carnival King's domain was filled with paint.
Najin understood what that meant. Just as Gerd said, this was the Carnival King's territory, and she had endless resources she could draw on.
...From here on, it was a war of attrition.
Would the Carnival King's paint run out first, or would Najin and Gerd collapse first? Najin could sense the long attrition battle waiting ahead.
But.
"This is not your stage."
Gerd quietly shook his head. He stretched out his hand and pointed past Aldaran, toward the Carnival King's old castle, the center of the domain.
"Go. I'll handle this place."
Najin stayed silent at the old man's choice. Unlike Najin, whose injuries were rapidly healing with Excalibur's power, Gerd's recovery was slow. His body was already wrecked.
Yet Gerd's eyes did not waver.
His stance did not waver either.
So, as always, the tip of his blade remained calm.
Gerd did not say it twice. As if he would open the way himself, he charged at Aldaran's corpse, now rampaging like a monster. Najin, still silent, clenched his teeth and slipped through the opening Gerd made, brushing past Aldaran.
Najin ran toward the Carnival King's old castle.
Watching him, Gerd, who had stepped in to block Aldaran from reaching Najin, steadied his breathing.
...One arm was broken.
He could not see from one eye. His breath was ragged, and his exhausted body begged for rest. But the Empire had not won yet, so he could not kneel.
Gerd switched swords.
He pushed his beloved blade back into its scabbard. Then he gripped the sword entrusted to him by the Empire's hero. It was his first time holding it, yet it felt familiar, like a blade he had swung for years.
The Empire's hero's sword shone pure white.
'Come, enemy of the Empire.'
The One-Horn Star, stained with paint, had fallen. Where eight stars had fallen, what now shone was the First Star rising after him.
'As long as I stand, you will not pass this place.'
Just as an Empire hero always did, First Horn of the Empire, Gerd Isabalt, blocked the Empire's enemy.
3.
Utopia, the Carnival King's domain.
Clusters of light began rising all across the demon's false paradise. It was a signal. A signal that they had completed their missions.
Karan, commander of the 2nd Corps, swung his sword toward the sky. The launched Sword Aura itself was the signal. He announced that he had destroyed the magic circle after fierce fighting.
After him, Yuel Razian, the Star Incarnation, Loren Aresche, and Cipria Gachevskaya sent up their signals.
All of them succeeded in destroying their magic circles. But they could not leave their positions. They were forced to strain while blocking the clowns that kept reviving without end.
【Smile. Let us sing. Let us dance. Let us make merry!】
【Play the instruments, loudly!】
【Life is comedy, and even death is nothing more than something to laugh at, so under this hell, merriment alone shall be the only value!】
What shone in the sky were the Carnival King's stars.
Eleven stars scattered hollow light.
【This is my utopia, my stage.】
【Life is a play.】
【Not even death can lower the curtain on the play.】
This entire vast domain was one Starfield, and a stage for her.
【The show must go on.】
Fallen clowns stood back up. The dead revived. On a stage where even death was mocked, the clowns laughed as if the whole world would be washed away.
And then.
With a crunch, Najin smashed the magic circle hidden in Sector 1.
All magic circles were broken, and the path opened.
A straight path leading to the old castle.
While the imperial army held back the clowns, Najin started running. He smashed through the gate of the Carnival King's old castle and charged in, swept away the remaining clowns, and started climbing the castle. Then, at one point.
"......"
The clowns suddenly disappeared. The owner of this castle had realized it. Clowns like these could neither stop him nor delay his steps for even a moment. He would definitely climb all the way here.
Since they would face each other anyway at the climax of this play, the Carnival King had no interest in boringly dragging things out and delaying it with worthless clowns.
The structure of the old castle changed.
A long corridor appeared before Najin.
At the end of the corridor stood a single throne, and she sat on it with her chin resting on her hand. Her long black dress flowed down beneath the throne.
Their eyes met.
From that day, from that moment when they first became aware of each other, both had sensed it by instinct.
To each other, they were natural enemies.
The two could never coexist. They could not compromise. They stood at opposite poles, unable to understand or be understood, so compromise was impossible from the start.
At this very moment.
The battles between Constellations outside the castle, the clowns' laughter, even their shouts all felt like things happening somewhere far away.
Their gazes, breathing, nerves, everything each of them had, stretched in a straight line toward the one standing opposite.
This was not a dream. Not a Star's Tomb. Not a chaotic battlefield blocked by all kinds of Constellations and clowns. Not an illusion. So perhaps this was the first time. The first time the two clearly recognized each other's existence.
Najin stepped forward.
Rustle, her dress trailing, the Carnival King rose from the throne. As if greeting a guest who had come to her castle, she lifted her skirt with pale white fingers.
The leads of the stage faced each other.
Both were protagonists of this stage, and at the same time, each was the other's one and only antagonist.
"So in the end, it was you."
"In the end, it had to be you."
And so, the play raced toward its climax.